


Iron (like a happy ending)

by amako



Series: One Piece Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sanji angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amako/pseuds/amako
Summary: "You know, it's okay to cry."orSanji isn't dealing. At all.





	Iron (like a happy ending)

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr request, based on the dialogue prompts.

There is such a thing as too many nightmares. When Sanji wakes for the third time in a row, sweating and breathing hard, he decides that enough is enough, and leaves the bunk room. The moon and stars are still lighting the night sky, but there is a halo of warm light on the horizon. He'll need to start breakfast in a couple of hours. Plenty of time to have a very dignified panic attack in the meantime.

He's leaning on the railing, arms stretched as he bows enough to press his forehead on the wood. He can feel the cold sweat on his brow, the shaking of his hands as they try to hang on to the railing. His heart is beating a wild rhythm in his ears, deafening. He feels like throwing up.

He doesn't expect it, because he can't hear anything besides the roaring sound of his blood rushing through his veins and his breathing like a hurricane in the silence of the night. So when a hard hand presses between his shoulder blades, he panics.

Sanji crouches so fast the bridge becomes blurry. His leg swipes quickly, knocking the attacker flat on their back and he has a knee pressed against their throat before he can draw the next breath.

The strong hand is back, this time on his thigh, and the feeling is so unsettling that Sanji has to focus on what's on the other end of this palm. Tanned skin and green hair tame something inside of him, like a quiet 'oh' at the end of a fireworks show.

He leans back, releasing the pressure on his nakama's throat. His rests his back against the railing and pats his pockets, only to realize he left his cigarettes in the bunk room. With a sigh, Sanji looks up at the stars and tries not to think. He's not successful, of course, as Zoro sits next to him with a quiet humf.

His hands are still shaking, ghostly pale against his dark pants. Sanji watches them and thinks of the cuffs, of the wedding cake and the white walls of the palace. He can feel the iron on his face like crawling ants devouring his skin and he shivers. Zoro's strong hand finds its place on his back, and this time he doesn't respond with a kick.

The quiet is soothing. Sanji gets used to the weight on his bones like you learn to appreciate warm water in the desert and he starts to relax. Zoro hums something before taking back his hand and scratching his jaw. Sanji's breath hitches.

Maybe it's because he can still smell the metal like an old scab scarring on his cheeks. Maybe it's because this is Zoro, his nakama, his rival. Maybe it's because the nightmares have left him raw and naked, breathless and bleeding like a fight gone wrong.

Seeing Zoro scratch at his face when his own is begging to be peeled of the bone unravels something in the pit of his broken heart. Somewhere in there, the child he's never stopped being rolls up in a ball and starts to cry.

On the outside, Sanji lets the thrill glide over his skin, a slug of grim and dust leaving a dirty trail. Zoro puts his hand back where it was.

 

“You know, it's okay to cry.”

 

Sanji nods. He nods, and presses back against the hand. He doesn't cry. Inside of him, the child starts to bawl.

They stay like that a while, enough for the warmth of the rising sun to start brushing the back of their neck. Sanji hates the rising sun with a burning passion. On the rock, a long time ago, it meant a day without food. Whoever said a sunrise is a new beginning should watch one with an empty stomach and the despair of knowing there's no coming back from this.

So he turns his toward Zoro and watches the golden light dance on the gold of his earrings before drawing patterns on the gold of his skin.

All he can think about is the metallic grey of iron plating.

 

“Can I have your hand?”

 

Zoro looks up at him, surprised, but complies. Sanji wraps shaking fingers around strong knuckles and raises it to his cheek.

The warm skin burns reassurances and sweet nothings on his frozen cheekbone. Sanji closes his eyes.

He smells gold.

 


End file.
